


From Something To Nothing And Back Again

by afteriwake



Series: In So Few Words [231]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Minor Irene Adler/Sherlock Holmes, POV Mycroft Holmes, Past Irene Adler/Mycroft Holmes, Post-Break Up, Reconciliation, Reconciliation Sex, Relationship History
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 08:36:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17864006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: Mycroft ponders his curious relationship with Irene Adler over the years.





	From Something To Nothing And Back Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dreamin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamin/gifts).



> An answer to a prompt by **Dreamin** ( _secondhand_ ) for this ship to celebrate it at **sherlockrarepairs** on Tumblr.

The room where she entertained her clients was not her actual bedroom, he had learned many years after the fact.

He had been in the room where she entertained her clients a few times, usually tied to the bed and at her mercy. Later they would go to her parlour for aftercare sessions, him in his shirt and trousers, no waistcoat, no tie, no jacket, her in a silk kimono that he had seen in Japan and thought she would like. He was surprised at the sentiment, that she would use the gift at all, let alone in his presence, but he appreciated the sentiment, just that once.

Eventually, as he went higher into the government circles and she began playing her dangerous game of secrets, their sessions came to an amenable end. He cared for her, perhaps even loved her, in his own way, but there would be no more. Sentiment is a chemical defect, after all, and he was made of steel and ice.

But later...after her infatuation with his brother brought her back into his orbit, he found steel had become malleable and ice had melted. Oh, it would always be that way with Irene, he realized, much to his dismay. When she got herself into trouble in Karachi, certain hints and clues were laid at Sherlock’s feet to find her; he’d have gone himself if it wouldn’t have amounted to an international scandal.

Oh, he knew she was alive. He knew she still fancied Sherlock, that his own sentiment seemed to be much like a secondhand piece of furniture now: used with love until it was no longer needed, then given away to someone who needed it more, but there was no one who needed him and therefore he was alone. Always alone, even though he might like not to be.

And then one night, a car waited for him, one that was not one of his regular cars. And she was in the back seat, waiting.

Sherlock loved another, this was a thing they both knew now, but what it meant for them, he didn’t know. It started with a conversation, an honest conversation between two usually dishonest people, and ended in a room he did not recognize, where he fell asleep next to her and woke up next to her, her hair spilled all over the pillow, a smile on her face.

He’d been allowed into her inner sanctum, it seemed, and for that, he was pleased. He wasn’t alone after all.


End file.
